


Blessed Be The Fruit

by waltermitty



Series: Good Omens [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels and Demons, Angst, Big Gay Love Story, Fluff, Freeform, Happy Ending, M/M, Short, a very short retelling of a very long life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 19:57:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19236046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltermitty/pseuds/waltermitty
Summary: Crowley recounts his life both with and without aziraphale by his side.





	Blessed Be The Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little quick fluff piece i wanted to get out of my drafts ! it isn't edited too harshly and there may be some capitalization mistakes! enjoy.

Crowley had been alive since the beginning of time.  He can recall the day he fell, was playing chess with one of the newer recruits, was watching Lucifer and God argue like children several feet away. Lucifer was, if angels were capable of such, a friend. He was handsome and funny and he and god herself were nearly inseparable. They disagreed on most everything lately, and Crowley could feel something begin to change in the air that evening before the beginning of the world. 

 

Change was an understatement. Lucifer was cast out of heaven, along with Crowley and Beelzebub. Lucifer created a nasty little place called Hell, and promptly sent Crowley to the newly formed earth in order to do his bidding. 

 

Such is where our story begins. The tale of Adam and Eve is simple. Humanity’s slip from perfection, the temptation of knowledge handed to them by a rather large snake, all brimstone and smoke, coiled around a branch and basking in the sun. The snake had noticed the angel who guarded the southern gate. He was short and portly, with dimpled cheeks and white hair curling from his head. His name was Aziraphale, Crowley learned, shortly after Adam and Eve left the garden with the angels own flaming sword. 

 

“Is that such a good idea? Giving a pregnant woman a flaming sword?” Crowley shifted into human form next to the angel, startling him, not so much as to hurt him, just to see what he would do. 

 

The angel just grins sheepishly, rubs his neck pink as he becomes flustered in his search for answers. 

 

“Well it’s- I mean- its going to be rough out there for them. I thought the least I could do was give them some help.” He turns to Crowley, eyes sparkling blue. 

 

Crowley ever so eloquently chokes on his breath as he stares into those eyes, the eyes that look like the first day of spring, when new flowers bloom and the clouds freckle the sky just so. 

 

He wanted to throw himself off the wall in hopes to shake the never ending urge to tuck a forgotten lock of hair behind the angles ear, to caress his cheek. 

 

Crowley realized at this moment, that he was in fact, beautifully, eternally,  _ fucked.  _

  
  


It only took a thousand years for Crowley to finally admit he loved the angel. It took another thousand for him to begin to act upon it, small heavenly favours, here and there. His reputation would be ruined, he’d moan, before putzing off to do exactly what Aziraphale needed. 

 

The next thousand were a blur, until one night, Crowley can’t recall the exact day- yet he’d soon be a fool to forget its impact upon him. Aziraphale, the damn angel, was making a rather rare deal with some german folks, over a very old book. Or several. Crowley didn't care, he just knew that the angel was in danger and that he was going to help. 

 

He was too late. He watched the entire church blow- a fiery explosion that, if it hadn't contained the love of his life, would have been quite spectacular. It did in fact contain the love of his life, and as the dust cleared, the fire flicking out in the late night, Crowley cried for the first time in two thousand years. 

 

He cried in the bentley, because he was a demon, and had appearances to keep despite his grief.

 

Crowley's life from then on was mostly filled with him crying and eating all the foods Aziraphale had always talked about. they tasted chalky and dull in his mouth, tasted like a memory he'd never make again. 

 

He mopes through the next couple of centuries, heart broken and bleeding and overall just  _ tired.  _ He misses his angel, goes to sit in the abandoned bookstore he does his best to tidy when he's around. 

 

He never did another good deed, far too bitter to help the almighty in any such way. He often feeds the ducks by he and Aziraphale’s bench, talks to them softly and apologizes that their home has gotten a bit crowded. 

 

And then, one spring day, Crowley is walking to get a new air freshener for the Bentley and he sees him. At first it's a trick of the eyes, he tells himself, climbs out of the still sputtering car with an “Angel?” falling off his tongue. And Aziraphale, as if he'd never been gone, turns around with the brightest smile on his angelic, perfect face and cries out “Oh Crowley!!! It is you!!” and runs into his arms, right in the middle of the street. 

 

Crowley has half a mind to whisk them away, to some abandoned old cottage he buys on journey there. The angel is clinging to his jacket, snuggling into the leathers like a down blanket and Crowley has had about all he can stand. 

 

“Aziraphale? I watched you, watched you-” He can't get the words out, choking back a sob. He's holding onto his angels shoulders, hands gripping the linens so tight as if he lets go the angel will disappear again. 

 

“Yes, you did.” Aziraphale responds, voice shaky and wet, very well matching Crowley's own. They stand there for a moment, clutching at one another, until Crowley straightens up, trusts himself not to fall over. 

 

“Angel?” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“I love you.” 

 

“I know.” Aziraphale responds, eyes sparkling that sweet blue Crowley missed so much. “Why do you think i came back.” 

  
  



End file.
